On teaching 2-4 year olds. 

Some days you can hardly believe how lucky you are—

like the days when they say ‘I love you’ in their home language,

or they tell you in lisping English that ‘our heartbeats are the same,’

while they place their small hands over your heart and


Perhaps, too, on the days when all of them are screaming or angry or sad;

when one child still believes she can make snow angels on snowless ground,

and another decides that someday he will change the world with science.

One day your heart breaks when a grieving child explains loss like this:

‘she is resting now because she’s had a lot of life.’

Today, the littlest one takes your hand. It’s so much smaller than yours.

He doesn’t speak English yet—in fact, he hardly speaks at all—but his dark, curly hair

belongs right there, leaning against your shoulder,

our heartbeats moving in unison.


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